Penelope's Suitors

Chapter 04

Chapter 4

Spring, 2006

Ted slept well Friday night, and all-day Saturday was already planned for his girlfriend, who had waited patiently during his London trip. She was curious to know all about the Tolford memorial service and his mansion.

"My mother wants a full report on the furniture. She lives for stuff like that."

"I'll give you a full write-up you can fax her."

"Are you going to take some vacation time? You didn’t take any time after your trip. You look tired, sweetie."

"I am. But it's good to be back in the swing of things again."

"I'm glad you're back," she said, and pushed her fingers through his hair.

She stayed over, but left Sunday morning. ("I can't help it. I promised a couple of former sorority sisters I'd meet them for brunch. You can't just blow them off—it's practically mortal sin.")

On Sunday, he couldn't settle down. He puttered, straightened, played with email and pretended he was just catching up, while thinking of Penelope, and William.

"I'll feel better back in office routine," he thought. He set his alarm for 7:00, and watched TV until he feel asleep.

His first week back in New York had been spent catching up and writing Maxwell's eulogy. But now, back in his routine, all he could think about was the promise he had made to himself. The only thing holding him back was the need to inform Penelope he was really getting started. He felt he owed her that—and more, he'd need information she had.

Ted was wondering how long he should wait after the funeral to call her, but she solved the problem for him on Thursday.

Bernice called him from the reception desk. “Penelope Tolford here to see you.”

"Oh—I wasn't expecting her. Never mind, I'll come right out." Full of curiosity, he walked to the reception area, but found it empty.

"She went to the ladies room," said Bernice. "Striking woman, and rich."

"How do you know that?"

"My husband has spent the last 30 years in the rag trade. I know what that lady’s dress cost.”

Ted laughed. “Well, you’re right. Her father was one of the wealthiest men in the country.”

“Nice to have a rich daddy,” said Bernice.

Penelope returned a moment later.

"What a nice surprise," Ted said, daring to kiss her on the cheek. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I know it’s last minute, and I should've called, but if you have time, I'd like to take you to lunch. To thank you for the lovely eulogy you delivered."

Penelope looked almost unsure of herself, as she waited for his answer.

"That would be very nice—thank you. Just let me grab my jacket."

"And if it's not a problem, I'd also like to meet the writer who wrote my father's obituary. It was very well done—and accurate, which is more than you can say about some. Miranda Foster, I think her name was."

Miranda was a little startled when they showed up at her cubicle and stood up too quickly. She fumbled for the pencil in her mouth and dropped it. When she reached for it, she knocked the phone off its cradle, and whispered a silent obscenity.

“I’m sorry…too absorbed in this story…"

“Miranda, this is Penelope Tolford, Maxwell Tolford's daughter. Penelope, this is Miranda Foster, junior staff writer. Penelope wanted to meet you.” Penelope held out her hand.

“I liked what you wrote, Miranda. My father would have appreciated it.” Miranda tried to hold her own against Penelope’s direct, appraising look.

“Oh, I’m glad…I haven’t been doing this very long…Ted helped a bit…”

“Just with the background," said Ted. "Anyway, I don't want to keep you, but I wanted to introduce you.”

"A pleasure meeting you, Miranda," said Penelope. "You're clearly a fine asset to this magazine and I wish you success." Her tone was low and even, and her gaze never wavered. Ted saw a flush creep up Miranda's neck. From behind Penelope, Ted smiled at Miranda, and then the two of them walked back to the lobby.

"Oh Ted, I almost forgot," said Bernice. "HR said you have 10 days in your vacation bank, so you can take any of them this month, just fill out the form."

"Thanks for looking into that," he said.

"Traveling again?" asked Penelope.

"Actually I want to talk to you about that," said Ted.

"I think we want to talk about the same thing. But we'll wait until we're seated and comfortable."

As they waited for the elevator, Penelope turned to Ted with an enigmatic smile. “Would you be insulted if I offered you a piece of advice?” she asked.

“On my tie?” he asked.

"It's a fine tie, although, perhaps it's not best with that jacket. Actually it’s about that redhead writer you introduced me to—Miranda. She’s very pretty, but she can’t be more than 23. She’s too young for you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Please, Ted, I’d bet my inheritance that she's your girlfriend and that it's common knowledge here. I’m right—she’s only 23, isn’t she?”

“She’s 24,” he said defensively. “And we’ve been very discreet.”

“Oh, 24. That’s much better then,” she said. “And I’m sure you’re never seen around town. But that doesn’t matter—it’s the way you look at each other. Anyway, she isn’t going to make you happy. But it’s none of my business.”

He almost said something, but couldn’t find the right words. Or the courage.

"I have reservations at the Four Seasons," she said.

"That's a very big thank-you lunch."

"It was a very good eulogy. And we have some things to discuss, so we might as well do it somewhere pleasant."

They were seated in the main room, near the fountain. Their fellow diners were uptown power brokers, and because this was the Four Seasons, the tables were far enough apart to guarantee privacy. Ted and Penelope made small talk before making their selections.

"What wine do you like?" she asked. "I don't usually have wine at lunch, but it's a shame to eat here without ordering wine."

"I'm afraid I know very little about wine."

"How refreshing to dine with a man who will admit that," she said. "I'll choose."

Ted waiting patiently until they ordered and the wine arrived. He sipped it appreciatively.

"You had something you wanted to discuss with me?" he asked.

"I want to know if you were serious about looking into William's death after all these years. Are you really going to? Can you really discover anything?"

"Yes, I was serious. That's what the vacation days are for. As I told you, I promised myself years ago. I keep coming back to what he was doing there, why he fell off. And now, as I said, with your father gone…” He drank some wine. “I really want to, Penelope. I feel I have to."

"Do you think there was a crime?"

"I don't think anything. Except that it just made no sense. It never did. But I think if I know more about that summer, I could find out why."

“What do you plan to do?”

“Talk. Track down as many people as I could who were there. See if the police would speak about it, if they were still around. It's difficult, but not impossible. Maybe he was seen by someone who didn’t want to admit seeing him then because they shouldn’t have been there—but who doesn’t mind admitting that now. Who knows?” Ted shrugged.

“You find it hard not knowing,” she said. It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes,” he said. “And I mean to satisfy my curiosity.”

Their salads arrived. Penelope talked about how she liked the Four Seasons salad dressing so much, and the conversation moved to other topics. Ted brought up a press dinner he had attended at the restaurant years before, when the guest of honor had had one glass too many from the Four Season’s fine wine cellar, and he was rewarded with one of Penelope’s rare smiles.

The waiter had just cleared the dishes when Penelope said, “If you do find out something, what will you do? Write an article?”

It took him a moment to realize they were back on the first topic. He smiled sadly.

"It's just for me. How could you think I'd publicize anything about that, knowing how I felt about your father. And my…feelings for you. You do know how I feel about you."

"I'm sorry. Of course you'll be discreet about anything you find. That was insulting of me."

"No, please don't apologize. I just didn't want you to think…"

"I know. It's OK. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't understand your need to revisit this. I've never felt a need to revisit the past. But you clearly have some ghosts to exorcise." They sat in silence for a few moments. "You'll need my help, of course. In fact, let's make it official.” She reached into her purse, pulled out her wallet, and extracted a dollar bill. She placed it on the table in front of Ted.

“I’ll pay you a dollar to work for me. If you’re giving up vacation time, the least I can do is cover any expenses, if you want to travel to the lake for example. And I can smooth the way, if you want to talk Joan or Stanislaus. I can get you access to the resort’s records. And Ariadne has told me some other locals are still around—people we worked with. They stayed around the Lake. I bet she could put you in touch with them.”

Ted looked closely at her. She was earnest. He picked up the dollar and tucked it into his shirt pocket. "I'll take this as an advance on the book I'm writing for you."

"What book?"

"I'll need a cover story, a reason for asking all these questions. You've commissioned me, a professional writer and family friend, to write an authorized biography of your father. Naturally, I want to clear up any issues about William's death—so of course I want to ask questions. You'll need to back me up on this if people check."

"I can see you're going to be a natural at this."

"I'll see if I can live up to your confidence. But more than your support, I'd like your memories." She fixed her deep black eyes on him. "I will need to hear your story. We’re going to have to go back to that August.”

“Of course,” she said quietly. "Do you want dessert or just coffee? We'll do this right now."

Ted reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small pad and pen. "If you're sure," he said.

They ordered coffee, and Penelope absently stirred in cream as she began speaking. “I didn’t go to the fire that night—the weather looked threatening and I was reading up at the house. Dad was traveling. Mrs. Bretton—remember our old housekeeper—had gone to sleep, so I was pretty much alone.” She paused. “You want me to start with when I found him…”

“No. Start with the phone call. That was never explained. I want to hear about it again.”

“It was still early in the night when I got the call from the local police, via the Mohawk Falls police. Two of our guests broke down there. They hoped someone could pick them up in a diner. I wondered why they called the police, why they didn’t call the resort direct. Even if they had lost our number, they could’ve had the operator look us up." She shrugged. “I didn't really think about it then. I probably just should’ve gone in the car and gotten them myself. But I came down to get you.” She gave a wry smile. “Part of me was lazy and I also didn't like to leave Ariadne alone. And I knew you were itching to get behind the wheel of Dad’s new Land Rover.”

“I remember that big beautiful machine.”

“I came down to the beach and explained it to you. You and Mary-Lou said you'd go. But that couple—I forget their name—never made a call. They weren’t in Mohawk Falls at all, hadn’t even left the resort that evening.”

“Mary-Lou and I just figured there was a miscommunication. It was only later we heard it was some kind of hoax. No one ever discovered what happened, did they?”

"I couldn't prove it, but I always thought it was some of my high school classmates, who thought it would be funny to send me and the police running around looking for nonexistent guests." She flushed briefly. "I wasn't the most popular girl in school."

"I think we dropped you back at your house on the way up the hill."

“Yes. I went back to my room. Later that night, Matthew started banging on our door. He looked upset, and I asked him why. And he told me William was hurt—badly hurt. I wanted to go down, but Matthew said there was no point, that I shouldn't. We argued a bit, and then the first sheriff car showed up. Eventually, as you know, we all found ourselves in the Hall, where they were questioning people."

"Where was Ariadne? Had she come back up to the house by then?" She looked at Ted as if she had forgotten he was there.

"Yes—yes, she had. We came down together to the Hall. But I don't remember you. Where were you all that time?"

“Still in Mohawk Falls.”

“It only takes a half hour to get there. Half an hour back. A few minutes to look around. But I didn’t see you until nearly 11:00. Even allowing for a little cruising around.”

We’re going to skip that part, thought Ted. “We spent a lot of time looking for them. We thought we had the wrong address.”

“Never mind," she said with a knowing smile. "Anyway, as I said, I had dreams for weeks, imagining him on the rocks, and his broken body, the water washing over him.” She shuddered. “You know, they got Dr. Nachmann up, he was there even before the ambulance. But it was pointless.”

“I know it was Matthew who discovered the body. Did you know how he came upon it?”

"He said he was uneasy as the weather turned and William disappeared. He said he was afraid he had fallen in the woods. But how Matthew ended up looking for him over that cliff—I don't know."

"Why did Matthew come to get you, if Vic was already calling for help?"

"I don't really know. He knew my father was out of town. He probably didn't have Stanislaus's number and I was the closest thing to a boss."

She looked down at her hand, to where she had wrapped her linen napkin around her fingers.

“Did you have any ideas as to why William was on the cliff edge at night? It wasn’t near the cabins, and it was hard to walk there in the dark, with the brush. William knew not to walk there that late.”

Penelope gave him a sour look. “Do you really think I didn’t know what went on in the those three north cabins.” Three lonely cabins at the north end of the property, too small for a family and far from the beach, had never been rented out in anyone's memory…which didn’t mean they were never used. A smug smile spread over Ted’s face.

“I suppose it was an open secret,” he said.

“It wasn’t any kind of secret. That’s where you college boys brought your lady friends for a little privacy."

"We couldn't bring girls to the staff cabin. Three of us there in one bedroom, and it was always a horrible mess."

"I'm sure. So that’s probably where William was going that night—one of the north cabins. Remember, that punked-out girl with the red stripe in her hair and pierced nose?”

“Well, yes, but that was hardly the quickest path, if he was meeting her there. Why end up so far at the edge of the bluff?”

“Probably trying to go the long way around to avoid her parents.”

Ted laughed. “Perhaps," he said, but then grew serious again. "Still, you can't really explain it. There was no reason for him to be on that bluff, even to avoid an angry father. Anyway, what about that week? Did you notice anything odd about William? A change in his behavior?”

“I hardly saw him. I was up in the office or down on the beach. You lived with him—did you notice anything?”

Ted shook his head. “He wasn't much of a talker. He saved his voice for the guitar, I guess. Did you see him talking to anyone? Arguing?” She pursed her lips, and shook her head.

“What about his girlfriend—the punk girl.”

“I can't even remember her name,” she said.

“I’ll look it up then—go through resort records.” He jotted down a reminder in his notebook.

“I'll call our office manager this afternoon. She'll be able to help you."

Ted shut the notebook. “I think I’ve made a start. I may come back to you, but I have plenty of people to start with. And I will follow up with Ariadne for our lakeside friends and colleagues."

“People don't leave that town. I bet everyone is still there, within 20 miles of the house they were born in. Ariadne has picked up with some of them when she returned. I'm sure she'd make some re-introductions.”

"As you said, Joan and Stanislaus are still around. What about Mrs. Bretton?"

"She was even older than Dad. She retired to Florida with a sister and died several years ago."

"I'm sorry. She was very nice."

“Yes, she was. And speaking of nice, I want you to be nice to Ariadne. I know you have to talk to everyone, including my sister, but please, be gentle with her. She had some bad years, and she’s just pulled herself together. Try not to upset her.”

“She was always the sweet one. Don’t worry—I’ll be gentle as a lamb—scout’s honor,” and he put his hand over his heart.

“I know you will, Ted.” He heard the hint of a threat. The waiter discreetly left the check and Penelope took out a credit card.

"I'll speak to everyone who was with us there, whom I can find, and pick at memories. Maybe something will come up. I’ll see if the bits of their memories add up to anything.”

“And your own memories,” she said.

He smiled, a little sadly. “Of course. I could never get rid of those, good or bad.”

“This is shaping up like an Agatha Christie mystery," she said, as they walked out of the restaurant. "Wasn’t there a Hercule Poirot story like that, where he solved an old mystery?”

“Yes, but I'd rather be Sherlock Holmes. I'll run out and buy a deerstalker hat."

“You do that." They stood outside the restaurant, and then she fixed him with a look he couldn't quite interpret.

"You mentioned something about your feelings for me. You love me, don't you?" she asked. He met her stare.

"So very much," he replied. She looked like she was about to say something, and then changed her mind.

Ted was trying to figure out what to say next, but then Penelope said, "I have to get back to the office. Good luck Ted, and thank you. Keep me posted, won’t you?" She kissed him quickly and then was gone, striding down the street.



Ted didn't feel like a big dinner after his fancy lunch, but he had promised Miranda an evening out. He took her to a new seafood place—best shrimp in New York, his friend the restaurant critic had said. Take a girl there this week, he had urged—when the review comes out the prices will go up and you won’t be able to get a reservation anymore.

When they got back from dinner, he stretched out on his couch, and she nestled against him. Miranda gave a pleased sigh as she snuggled against him, like a kitten, he thought. He stroked her thick red hair.

“I just love the cashmere sweater you got me from Harrods," she said. "That was very thoughtful. And it was awfully nice of you to call every day from London. How are you hiding those calls in your expense report?”

“I couldn’t hide that. Even Larry would figure out calls every day to the same number. I’m paying for that out of my own pocket, so don’t doubt my devotion to you.” And he kissed her.

“I liked meeting Penelope Tolford today, but I felt so stupid. She’s so, so…”

“Poised?”

“Yes. That’s the word. And she’s so beautiful.”

“Actually, she’s not. She’s plain. Her sister is beautiful. Penelope was the plain one.”

“I guess when you’re that poised, people think you’re beautiful."

He mused over that for a while, then caught Miranda giving him a funny look.

“Was she your girlfriend?” she asked.

“Why do you think so?”

“Don’t change the subject by answering a question with a question. I know you knew her from childhood, when your family vacationed there. You told me you worked at her father’s resort when you were a teenager. And you seemed very friendly with her. So was she your girlfriend?”

“We were more like brother and sister.” She kept looking at him, but her eyes narrowed.

“Oh my God. You had a crush on her, didn't you? You were madly in love with New York heiress Penelope Tolford." She studied his face. "Yes, I'm right! You pined away for unrequited love of Maxwell Tolford’s daughter.” She giggled. “You loooved her. You wanted to marry her and have children with her. Ooooh—wait till I tell the girls in the gym—great columnist and man-about-town Ted Jellinek heartsick over—" And she couldn’t talk anymore because he was tickling her, and he kept on, finally stopping to let her catch her breath.

“Well," she said still grinning. "I don’t think I'm going to get a straight answer from you, but never mind.” She kissed him then stood up and took his hand. Penelope was right, he thought. Miranda is very pretty. She is not beautiful, but she is very pretty.

Later, in the small hours, the city approached something like quiet. Miranda slept peacefully with her hair splayed across his chest.

Ted couldn't sleep, half-afraid of dreams, and his thoughts went back to the lake.



Summer, 1986

Mary-Lou tended to take her lunch break at the hall around 12:30. She brought a sandwich, sometimes ham and cheese, sometimes peanut butter and jelly, and seedless grapes, and left the brown bag in the fridge behind the counter. She helped herself to a diet cola and pulled up one of the tall green bar stools to the counter.

The lifeguard chair wasn’t covered, so despite liberal application of sunscreen, she was turning a rich golden brown. She usually wore a baseball cap with a U.S. Marine Corps insignia, but because the beach was so hot, so she often took it off, and her naturally blond hair had paled further.

An early summer heat wave blanketed the lake, a clear dry heat that hit you solid when you stood in the sun. You felt you were closer to the sky here, the rich summer blue. Vic, William, and Ted had taken off their shirts. Still they were hot, and not a breath of air moved through the Hall. The sun sent beams through the windows, and dust motes floated but hardly moved. The boys took quick swims throughout the day, in the denim shorts they worked in, but they dried off quickly in the low humidity, and soon the sweat was trickling down their necks again.

Because of the heat, the Hall was empty except for people who had to be there. Ted was on counter duty for anyone who wanted a soda or the orange pops no one over the age of 10 every bought. Behind him came the clink of metal on metal as Matthew disassembled a 6 h.p. engine in the shop. He wore a dirty tee shirt to keep the oil off at least part of his body, and it was stained with sweat.

Fighting for attention was the sound of William’s guitar just outside on the dock, and further away were the dim voices of Vic and a 50-something couple as Vic helped them into a canoe.

“Busy morning?” Ted asked Mary-Lou.

“When teenaged boys get bored, they decide it would be a lot of fun if they ‘drowned’ and I ‘saved’ them.”

“Would you like me to have a word...”

“Oh no. I took care of it. It won’t happen again.” He didn’t ask what she had done. Mary-Lou ate her lunch quietly for a while.

“What are you studying in school?”

“English literature.”

“What do you plan to do with that?”

“I’m going to become a journalist and win a Pulitzer Prize. I’m going to be like Woodward and Bernstein, and expose corruption and everyone will read me and know my name.” He stopped, a little embarrassed.

“And then I can tell my friends I knew you back when.”

“You said you were going to nursing school?”

“Yes. I’m going to become a registered nurse and work in the hospital in Fort Bramwell. There’s always a shortage of nurses. And I’ll have a house on the mountain with a view of the lake.”

“There are worse ambitions than spending the rest of your life by this lake.” He turned back to her. “Can I visit you?” She seemed surprised at the question.

“Oh, of course,” she said.

The Tolford girls strolled in through the back door, single file, Penelope first. They wore matching black one-piece suits and their braids were cinched with white scrunchies.

“Stealing away from the office for a swim. We just came to get some sodas,” said Penelope.

“Two diet Cokes coming up," said Ted, as he fetched them. Ariadne pulled up a stool next to Mary-Lou, then popped the top.

“Aren’t you coming to the beach?” asked Penelope.

“In a minute,” said Ariadne. Penelope looked like she was about to say something, but stopped herself. She walked out the main entrance onto the dock and looked at Vic, who was giving a gentle shove to the middle-aged couple in the canoe. The wife sat in the front, the husband in the back, and they paddled with the familiarity of people who had done this many times before. They each wore wide-brimmed hats.

The Hall’s roof extended beyond the lakeside wall, forming an awning, and into that shade William had dragged an old wooden kitchen chair from the storeroom. He played without singing, Beatles melding into Bob Dylan, melding into James Taylor.

“I enjoyed listening to you by the fire the other night. You play well,” she said.

He smiled briefly. “Thank you.”

“Penelope!” The two of them looked up at Matthew. He was wiping his hands on a rag, and there was grease on his face. He realized he had spoken too loudly, had interrupted them, and gave a lopsided smile. “Tell your father to get some new outboards. This one is older than I am.”

“You know Stanislaus. He won’t let Dad throw out anything.” Matthew shook his head.

“Well, I’ll keep busy, anyway.” He kept rubbing his hands on the rag, but made no move back to the machine shop.

“I’m going for that swim,” said Penelope. She turned to Mary-Lou. "Were you planning to go for a swim too? I noticed you had a wonderful stroke, and I'd like to pick up some tips."

“Happy to join you,” said Mary-Lou. “I always want to cool off before sitting on that hot chair again.” She crumpled up her bag. “Are you going to make another fire on the beach, Ted? They say it will be cooler tonight.”

“If you’d like, I will.” She swung off her chair and disappeared out the back with Penelope. They were talking, but Ted couldn’t hear what they were saying to each other.

To no one in particular, Matthew said, “I need some more spark plugs. I’m driving to the marina.” He fished his car keys out of his jeans pocket and headed out. Vic wandered back in and looked at the clock. “Laurie is coming by when the lunch shift is over. Did you say you were making a fire tonight? Laurie said she’d hang around if we had a fire.”

“Just give me a hand with the logs. Hey, William—we’re making a fire on the beach. You don’t have to carry logs, but you do have to bring the guitar.” William was holding his pick in his mouth, so he didn’t say anything, just nodded. Vic looked at the clock again, and headed back out to the docks.

“How are things working out with Matthew?” asked Ariadne. She had a sly look on face, like the one he saw at the first fire.

“Nice guy. And he seems to really know engines.”

“His father runs a garage, he practically grew up with engines. And I know something else about him.” She looked like she was about to explode.

“Can I convince you to tell me?”

“Penelope told me she’d kill me if I told anyone, but I can’t stand it anymore." She made an exaggerated look around the Hall, and then in a loud whisper said, "Matthew. Is. Your. Rival.”